In the morning before the sun was high, a Berber took Kit and his party to the headman's tent and signed them to sit in the sand. Their clothes were smeared by dust to which the dew had stuck, and Kit's boots were broken. His fatigue had not worn off much, he felt horribly dirty and dull, but he knew he must brace up. The headman and two or three others occupied the open front of the tent. In the background a row of camels, making strange noises, knelt beside a broken wall, and behind the uncouth animals stones and clumps of tamarisk melted into the widening bottom of the wady. The wind had dropped, it was not yet hot, and thin smoke with a pungent smell floated about the camp.

Kit studied the headman with some curiosity, since he did not know if the fellow was his host or captor, but got no hint from his inscrutable face. He understood the people were Berbers, but at Las Palmas he had borrowed a book that stated the Berbers were short and light-skinned. The tribesmen Kit had met were big and dark, but the chief was lighter in build and colours than the rest. He was obviously not a savage; somehow Kit thought him well-bred.

"Why have you come to my camp?" he asked.

Simon translated and afterwards carried on the talk. As a rule, it dragged, and Kit imagined the interpreter was sometimes puzzled and used the lingua franca of the Moorish ports."Tell him I have come for the men his people carried off from the boats," said Kit.

"You thought to take them from us?"

"No," said Kit. "We knew this was impossible."

"Yet you brought a gun!"

Kit had missed the gun, but when the headman signed one of the others brought Don Erminio's old double-barrel. The Berber studied it and Kit thought him amused.

"Then you mean to buy the men?" he resumed.

Kit said he did not; he had no money, but if the men were not released, it was possible the Spanish government would send soldiers to look for them. The headman let this go and asked what his and Macallister's occupation was. Simon replied, and the other was quiet for a few moments. Then he said: "I have a better gun than yours, but sometimes it does not shoot. If this man knows machines, let him mend it."

He clapped his hands and a Berber brought Macallister a big automatic pistol.

"I doubt my luck's no' very good," Macallister remarked. "A watch I ken. When ye can grip her in a vice and have tools to pick oot the works, she need not puzzle ye lang, but a pistol ye must hold on your knee is anither job. I'm thinking there might be trouble if I spoil her. For a' that, if ye have a peseta, I'll try t'."

Kit, with some hesitation gave him the coin. He had known Macallister spoil a useful watch, and return another bearing the marks of the vice-jaws. Experimenting with watches had a strange charm for him, but sometimes he made a good job, and if he mended the pistol it might help. Macallister got to work with the coin and his big pocket knife, and the headman turned to Kit."I seized the men because your master cheated me. If I let them go, I will not get the goods he owes."

"You will not get the goods," Kit agreed. "My master is gone."

The headman and one of the others talked, and Simon said to Kit: "They think it is so. They have found out that Yusuf is gone. I expected something like this."

"Not long since I would have sold the men; I might have sold you all," the Berber resumed. "Now, however, this is perhaps not safe. We are not afraid of the soldiers, but we have enemies, and sometimes our neighbours take the white men's bribes."

"He is frank, but it is like that," Simon remarked. "In Africa, the white man's power is not his native soldiers. One tribe hates the next and foreign money rules the desert." He paused and shrugged. "It is possible the fellow would have sold us. Baccalao fishermen have vanished. At the wineshops the Spaniards tell stories—— But he wants to know why you bother about the sailors. They are not your servants."

Kit hesitated. He did not know the Berber's code and if he claimed his object was unselfish the fellow might think he had another. Yet he was not going to make up a plausible tale. Kit's anger was quick and hot. The brute had pondered selling white men like camels.

"Tell him I saw somebody must look for them. When his people tried to carry me off, I think one put me on board the boat. That's all," he said.

"Then, they have no rich friends who would pay you if you brought them back?" the chief asked.

"You have seen them!" Kit rejoined and indicated his companions. "They are men like these. Rich men don't labour in a steamer's boats."

The Berber gave him a thoughtful glance. Kit was angry and his naive honesty was obvious. The Berber was subtle, but it did not look as if he doubted. Kit thought he weighed something; and then he looked up with a start.

He had heard a sharp report, and a thin streak of smoke curled about the automatic pistol. Sheep ran across the stubble, a camel got up, and Kit saw a small hole in the tent.

"Noo I ken what's wrang with his gun," Macallister remarked.

Holding the pistol in front he advanced towards the Berbers. None moved and the headman's look was imperturbable. Kit wondered whether the magazine held another cartridge and hoped nobody would move. He knew Macallister. The engineer stopped opposite the headman, and for a moment their glances met. Then he held out the pistol, with the butt to the other.

"For a camel thief, ye're a trustful person," he said dryly.

Kit had not seen a Berber laugh, but when Simon translated it looked as if the headman smiled. He signalled and across the wady a man with a modern rifle got up from behind a stone and another crawled out of the sand. Kit thought they were picked shots and had marked the range. All the same, he doubted if the headman knew there was a cartridge in the magazine. Macallister, stopping by the other, opened the pistol.

"Noo," he said, "ye see——"

His lingua franca was uncouth, but when he took some pieces from the pistol with his pocket knife it looked as if the headman saw. He was obviously interested, something of his reserve vanished, and presently he signed one of the others back and Macallister sat down on the piece of carpet by his side. The engineer gave Kit a smile he understood. It was as if he had said, "Ye dinna ken old Peter yet!"

Kit mused. He had borne some strain and was languid, and the headman was occupied. It was strange, but Macallister, by luck or talent, generally took the middle of the stage. Kit was not like that, but now chance had given him a leading part, the part must be played, and he weighed the arguments he had used. He had stated that he was poor and Wolf had vanished. If the chief were satisfied about this, there was obviously no use in his holding the party for ransom or to force payment of Wolf's debt. Then he had hinted that the Spanish government might send soldiers to search the country, and the Berber admitted that he had enemies who intrigued with the white men. Kit did not know another argument; perhaps he had said enough, and he waited.

By and by the headman talked to the interpreter, who said: "He wants to know why you landed the guns when you had not brought all."

"We thought we had brought all," Kit replied. "We didn't know until the French gunboat came that Yusuf had cheated us. But he hasn't heard about the gunboat yet. You must try to make him understand."

He narrated their escape from the gunboat. The story was long, for the Berbers were not sailors and translation was difficult. Sometimes Simon hesitated, but the headman did not look impatient. His face was inscrutable and one got no hint about his thoughts. The sun got hot and the wind began to blow the dust about the wady.

At length Kit stopped and for a few moments the headman pondered.

"You might have thrown the guns into the sea, but you did not," he remarked."The guns were yours," said Kit. "When we knew the Jew had sold us, we resolved to deliver them. You see, we had got the camels."

The headman gave him a searching look. "If I let you have the men we took, you will be satisfied?"

"Yes," said Kit. "That is all we want."

"Very well," said the other. "Your master robbed me, but he is gone and my debt will not be paid. I will let your men go; to keep them might be dangerous." He paused, and although he did not smile, Kit imagined he was amused. "All the camels with which I paid for the guns were not mine," he went on. "Some belonged to people who are friends of the French. I will send for your men. They are not here and you must wait for two or three days."

He sent off a man to the camels and then touched Macallister.

"If you will stop with me, you shall take care of my guns and you may get rich," he said, and turned to Kit. "If you can bring me the goods I want, I will trade with you." Then he indicated the interpreter. "If this fellow comes back, we will shoot him."

He got up, signed that the audience was over, and went into his tent. Simon's eyes twinkled.

"Perhaps he thinks I know too much, and I know something. All the same, I will not come back. In Morocco one runs risks and I have not got paid. At Cairo the tourists are curious about the East and some are generous. They know Simon at the big hotel. I will return."

Kit went off to the shade of the ruined hut. Perhaps it was strange, but he trusted the haughty Berber and he had not altogether trusted Simon. On the whole, he thought the fellow's plan was good. If the tourists at Cairo were like some at Las Palmas, Simon would be a useful guide about the town at night. Kit, himself, would sooner be a robber like the dark-skinned chief. Then Macallister sat down opposite and began to clean his pipe.

"If I kent where to steal a handy bit steamboat, yon headman and me would make a bonnie pair o' pirates, but I've no' much use for camels," he remarked. "Weel. I alloo ye took a very proper line wi' him."

"I didn't see the line I ought to take. I was frank."

Macallister's eyes twinkled. "Just that! I'm no saying ye were plausible, but the headman's no' a fool; he saw ye were a simple weel-meaning body. Onyway, it's done with. We'll get off when Miguel comes."

Three days afterwards Miguel and Juan arrived, riding in a frame hung across a camel. The quartermaster got down awkwardly and stretched his arms and legs.

"But I am sore! It is like beating to windward in a plunging boat," he said and went up to Kit. "We were anxious, seÑor, the Moors are bad. But I did not bother very much. I knew you would come back for us, and my saint would guard you."

The blood came to Kit's skin. He said nothing, but gave Miguel his hand.